“Yeah, my ma was good at giving advice. It was staying around she had a hard time with.” Pain flashed in her eyes—eyes that contrasted with the innocence of her face and made her look old again. Old and used. She shook her head, as if to shake away the memories. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I get along just fine without her.”
“Fine, huh?” Jesse glanced around the room. “Living up here with the filth and the ghosts is fine?”
“It ain’t that dirty, and like I told you, there ain’t no ghosts,” she pointed out, gripping her guitar.
No ghosts. Just memories.
“Besides, nobody comes up here much, what with the story and all. It’s private, and the sound is pretty good.” She pulled the guitar up into her arms and strummed a chord. “So what’s your name, mister?”
“Jesse.”
“Name’s Trudy,” she said, strumming another chord. “So tell me what you were doing a few seconds ago. You looked kind of out of it. You sick?”
“No,” Jesse replied. “Can you do more than just strum that thing?”
She smiled for a split second before launching into a melody that was so slow, sad, and heartbreakingly sweet that Jesse actually felt the residual anger from earlier slip away.
The music filled his ears and made him want to cry at the injustice of life, that something so vibrant, so alive, could exist amid such poverty and heartache. It was downright cruel. As if God were giving him a little taste of beauty that only made him hunger for more, when there wasn’t any. Not in this life, anyway. He knew that firsthand.
When Trudy had played the last note, quiet settled around them, only the sound of the rain reminding Jesse that the world still existed outside. The world and all its ugliness.
“Not bad, huh?” Trudy asked, giving him a grin and a glimpse of innocence again. “Taught myself, you know.”
“No lessons?”
“If I had money for lessons, you think I’d be here?”
A pang of awareness shot through him and he shook his head, suddenly feeling colder, more alone than he ever had before. “You shouldn’t be here anyway. Didn’t your mother ever warn you about talking to strangers when she was giving all that good advice?”
“Sure she did.”
He stared at her as if to say, Then why aren’t you hustling yourself downstairs?
“But you ain’t no stranger. Your name’s Jesse. Hey, where’d you get that jacket?” She eased her guitar to the floor and hugged her stomach. “Looks awful warm.”
“You like it?” he asked. At her nod, he pulled off his letterman’s jacket, faded and worn and fifteen years old, and handed it to her, much to her obvious astonishment.
“What about you? The days are warm but the nights have been awful chilly, and the weatherman on the TV down at the pawnshop is predicting another cold front. You’ll catch your death.”
“It’s too late for that,” Jesse replied; then he turned and walked from the room. As he hit the stairs, the sound of the girl’s slow melody followed him, along with images from his past.
The bearded man’s face flashed in his mind, and Jesse walked faster, taking the stairs two at a time as he headed for the first floor. It wouldn’t be too hard to find that man, to give him a taste of what he’d been so quick to give Jesse that night.
Forgiveness, a voice whispered as he exited the building.
The rain pelted him as viciously as his rage pushed and pulled at his determination. After an indecisive moment, he turned and walked toward the corner. A quick left, and he headed for Faith’s House. His desire for forgiveness had won. This time.
But what about the next time?
The question haunted him as he covered several blocks. He found himself wondering if he was strong enough to put aside his hurt and accomplish his mission with Faith Jansen. He had to be. Otherwise he’d forfeit his second chance and be stuck here in this abysmal world for another lifetime. It wasn’t a case of heaven or hell. No, he’d died too soon, which meant he had one early shot at heaven. If he completed his mission in two weeks—the anniversary of the date of his death—he would find his reward and be reunited with his brother and sister. If not, he would stay here. It was a fate worse than the memories, as far as Jesse was concerned.
“… the Southside slaying of a teen gang member brings the total deaths related to gang violence to fifty-eight. Stay tuned for more news after this commercial break.” The newscaster’s voice faded into a lively commercial jingle that pounded through Faith’s head with the fury of one of Ricky’s Metallica CDs.
Groping for the mute button on her remote control, she turned over to snuggle into one sofa pillow. Grubby stirred next to her and she stroked his back, lulling him back to sleep with the gentle motion. As she sank back into oblivion, the crash of metal yanked her back to reality.
Grubby started to bark. She rolled onto her back and forced her eyes open. The bright morning sun streamed through her living room windows. The blinds … Why had she left the blinds open last night?
For the same reason she’d left the television set blaring, her plastic TV dinner tray in the middle of the coffee table, and a load of clean, unfolded laundry piled on one end of the couch. She didn’t care. She didn’t want to care—
The thought ground to a halt at the sound of garbage cans being manipulated on her back porch.
Shielding her eyes with one hand, she glanced at the clock that ticked away, keeping tempo with the heavy-metal drum solo beating away inside her skull. Six A.M. The neighborhood delinquents couldn’t even wait for a decent hour to start vandalizing her property.
Now she had to buy another set of trash cans—
But she had no trash cans, she quickly remembered as yesterday’s scene replayed in her head. She crawled from the couch, pulled her T-shirt down over her bare midriff, and wondered what the little devils could be after this time. She kept nothing on her back porch except a couple of wrought-iron chairs and a small table. Surely they weren’t trying to make off with her half-rusted patio furniture.
Shoving the curtains aside, she stared out at her back porch. The lid of one shiny new trash can caught the sun’s rays and blinded her for a split second. Then a shadow obliterated the light. The sound of clanging metal resumed, along with a steady grinding and a slight tremble of the door frame.
“What in the world are you doing?” she asked as she threw open the back door. She stared through the burglar bars at Jesse Savage, who was stooped on her back porch, a drill in one hand, a small metal chain in the other.
He tilted his face toward her. His lips hinted at a grin. “Making sure these cans don’t get ripped off again. You did say that was a problem, didn’t you? Your cans getting stolen?”
“Well, yes, but …” She stared at the shiny new cans. “These aren’t mine. The new ones I bought last week were ripped off yesterday.” Her gaze traveled past him, toward the stone steps and her small backyard. Not a piece of trash littered the dew-covered grass, as if the chaos she’d seen yesterday had never existed.
“And whoever ripped them off made one helluva mess.”
“I know.” Her gaze met his. “You cleaned all of it up,” she said accusingly.
He touched his heart in an overly dramatic gesture. “Your gratitude is overwhelming.”
“I’m sorry, I guess I’m just used to cleaning up my own trash. I should have said thanks.”
His grin turned into a full-fledged smile—a smile that warmed her a great deal more than the morning sun that showered the porch and outlined Jesse’s powerful frame. Without the rain making him hunch down, he looked larger, his shoulders broader in the faded sleeveless sweatshirt he now wore. The worn jeans still clung to his thighs, outlining the bunched muscles as he knelt.
He indicated the white trash bag beside him. “I also brought over a couple of new cans.”
She shook her head. “But how did you know mine were stolen yesterday?”
“Actually, I just came by this morning to secure the ones
you already had to the wall here.” He tugged on the small chain that ran from the door frame to the bottom of one can. “Makes them much harder to swipe if they’re attached. When I got here, I saw yours were missing, so I went back to Faith’s House, and Bradley let me have a couple of extra cans. Thought I’d save you the trouble of getting new ones. You don’t look like you enjoy going out much.”
“Don’t say it.”
“Say what?”
“That I’m a hermit lady. That’s what Bradley says, but he’s wrong. I just like being alone.”
“Whatever makes you happy.” His dark eyes swept from her head, down past her rumpled white T-shirt and fleece pants, to her toes encased in bright red tube socks.
A tingle crept up Faith’s spine and she shifted, putting one hip behind the kitchen door to escape some of his scrutiny.
“So, does it?” he persisted.
“Does what?”
“Does hiding make you happy?” The words were soft, a question he might have been murmuring to himself, except that she heard all too clearly.
She stiffened, her fingers tightening on the doorknob. “I’m not hiding, Mr. Savage.”
“Jesse,” he corrected.
“I’m not hiding, Jesse.”
“Then why is it that Bradley’s swamped with work, and you’re here lazing around, doing nothing?”
Oddly enough, with the words came the same stab of guilt she’d experienced when she’d left Faith’s House yesterday. Guilt, of all things, when she didn’t want to feel anything.
Her fingers tightened considerably until the doorknob bit into her palm, and the pain was enough to silence her conscience.
“You know something? You’re right. Bradley is swamped, which makes me wonder what you’re doing here instead of at Faith’s House. I don’t recall you being hired to be my personal handyman.”
“No, but it looks as if you could use one.” His attention shot past her to the kitchen table, which was stacked with empty food containers and old newspapers. “Or at least a housekeeper.”
Heat crept up her neck and she actually felt herself blush. The realization made her stiffen. “How I keep house is none of your business, and neither are my trash cans.”
“I just thought I’d lend a hand.” The sincerity in his voice brought another wave of heat to her face. This time it wasn’t embarrassment. No, it was shame, damn him.
“I don’t need a hand.”
“Consider it a favor.”
“I don’t need any favors.”
“Then payback.”
“Payback? For what?”
“I owe you for yesterday. For helping me get the job.”
“You managed that all by yourself. You disarmed Daniel and forced him to let me go.”
He considered her words. “Then I guess you owe me.”
She stared at him, those dark, intense eyes holding her captive for a brief, heart-stopping moment. A moment where she should have felt nothing, least of all the slight tremor that danced up her spine.
“So maybe I did give Bradley the okay to hire you.”
“And maybe I’ve fixed it so your cans won’t get ripped off anymore.” He tugged on the chain, then stood. His silhouette obliterated the morning sun, and a shiver worked through her. But she wasn’t sure whether the sensation was from the sudden cold that came from standing in the shadows, or from the way he stared at her.
“You still owe me,” he went on. “Fix me a cup of coffee and we’ll call it even.”
“I—I’m busy.”
“Cleaning up?” His gaze swept past her again. She glanced over her shoulder, following the same direction to the dishes piled high in the sink. Empty potato-chip bags and cereal boxes cluttered the counter. She inched from behind the door to block his view.
“Don’t you have to get to work?” she asked again, eager for an excuse to get him off her porch. Out of her life, and quick. Before she had to analyze her body’s reaction to this scruffy stranger. He’s a stranger! reason screamed.
A disturbingly familiar stranger who’d saved her life, another voice reminded her. Not that she’d forgotten. She couldn’t forget. That was the trouble. With him staring so intently at her, she could do nothing but remember. The pain deep in his eyes, the desperation, drew on those old feelings she’d tried so hard to bury. Caring, trust, concern …
Feelings she had buried with Jane.
Until he’d shown up and unearthed what she wanted desperately to forget: the way things had been before—the way she’d been before. But Jesse stirred more than just that. He made her feel new things, as well. Attraction, excitement, desire.
“Bradley said he wants me bright and early at seven. That leaves a little under an hour. Enough time for that coffee.” He held her gaze, daring her to look away, yet at the same time refusing to let her. He compelled her to look. To remember.
That was the real trouble. He reminded her of too much, which was why she needed to get rid of him. Fast.
If coffee would do the trick … Surely she could find some in the mess that had once been her neatly arranged cupboards.
“I can’t promise cream or sugar.” She made one last attempt to dissuade him.
“Black’s fine.”
“Or even a clean cup.”
“I’ll wash my own.”
Reluctantly, she twisted the lock on the burglar bars and swung the iron gate open.
After wiping his boots on her floor mat, Jesse Savage walked into her kitchen, and for a brief moment, Faith got the inexplicable feeling she’d not only let him into her kitchen, but into her life. He was definitely trouble.
“Nice place,” he said after he’d glanced around at his surroundings. “You live here alone?”
“Yes.” She turned her back to him and walked to the sink. A familiar whimper sounded and she turned to see Grubby waddle into the kitchen, his black nose shining. “Well, almost alone.”
Jesse smiled, bent down, and scooped the dog into his powerful arms. “Hey, fella.” He rubbed Grubby’s head with his fingertip. “Are you hungry?” When the dog started licking madly at his thumb, Jesse shot her a knowing glance. “I think that’s a definite yes.”
Faith snatched a can of dog food from the cupboard, then hunted in a drawer until she found a can opener. After opening the food and dishing it into a bowl, she set it on the floor.
Jesse placed Grubby on the tile and they both watched as the puppy sniffed his way over to breakfast. He batted one small paw at the edge of the bowl a few times, scooting it around to just the right position before his small snout plunged inside. A few gobbles later he chanced a glance at Faith, licked his chops, and wagged his tail.
Faith was smiling when she felt Jesse’s gaze on her. Their eyes locked, and she saw his smugness, as if he’d caught her with her guard down and was immensely pleased. She turned back to the counter.
Heat burned her cheeks as she rummaged around in a drawer, found the last clean dishtowel, and tossed it to him.
“You really want me to wash my own cup?” he asked, laughter in his voice.
“I’ll wash and you can dry.” Nervous energy rushed through her, and she turned the faucet on full-force. “And I can’t promise how long it will take us to find a cup. We’ll have to get through some of this first.” She eyed the stack of plates, then shot him a quick glance. “Second thoughts?”
“Not on your life,” he replied, coming up beside her.
She forced her attention from the scarred hand gripping the dishtowel and concentrated on the present task. Shoving a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she squeezed a river of dishwashing liquid onto the dirty dishes and grabbed a dishrag.
Silence settled around them as Faith attacked the sinkful of dishes, her movements quick, frenzied. Before Jesse could finish drying one plate, she had at least two more for him.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re in a hurry to get rid of me,” he said after they’d washed nearly half the dishes.
&n
bsp; “Smart man.”
“You don’t like people much anymore, do you?”
“Anymore?” She shot him a quick sideways glance, and immediately regretted it. Her gaze caught his for a brief moment, and she felt that same feeling, as if he poked and prodded at her thoughts with nothing more than those dark eyes of his. She forced her attention back to the soapy saucer in her hand. “And what makes you so sure I’ve ever liked anyone?”
“A woman who invests her time and money in playing foster mother to a houseful of delinquent kids? I’d say somewhere along the line you cared about people. Otherwise you would never have taken up your present line of work.”
“Correction—my former line of work. I’m through with Faith’s House. It’s Bradley’s burden now.” She shoved the saucer beneath the hot water.
“Why?”
“Do you make it a habit of prying into other people’s business?” She shoved the saucer at him and gave him a freezing glare.
“No. You’re the lucky one.” He smiled, lips curving to reveal a straight row of white teeth and a deep dimple that cut into his left cheek.
A tingle of warmth spiraled through her and she attacked another dish. “I like my privacy, Mr. Savage, and you’re invading it.”
“It’s Jesse, and I was only trying to find out where you went wrong so I can avoid that route.”
“Meaning?”
“I’m new at Faith’s House and I aim to stick around a while. I don’t want to burn out, so I thought you could give me a few pointers, maybe steer me away from the road you traveled.”
She’d cared too much. Tried too hard. Thought too deeply. “You want some advice about your new job, Mr.—Jesse?”
“Shoot.”
“Remember it’s only a job.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that in the end, it’s only a job. Those kids are your job, nothing else. Nothing personal. You keep that in mind and you won’t end up like me.”
“An old hermit lady?”
A grin tugged at her lips despite the ache in her chest. “Exactly.”
She reached for a cup and the air lodged in her throat. With trembling fingers she traced the Houston Rockets logo emblazoned on the outside of the white mug, an authentic Hakeem “the Dream” Olajuwon autograph on the opposite side. Her eyes burned as she remembered the teenage girl who’d sat in her kitchen day after day, drinking cocoa or iced tea or something from the cherished cup an English teacher had given as first prize in a school poetry contest. Jane …
Faithless Angel Page 4
